


The Mind Electric

by F4rewell



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intimacy, Mentioned Elias Bouchard, Mentioned Martin Blackwood, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F4rewell/pseuds/F4rewell
Summary: The last thing after a week of working in the institute was to see the stretched out, blond monster nonchalantly in you apartment.Moreover, even less expected was to allow him to HELP you, in a way.Not in tags: descriptive pain. VERY slight gore.Non-sexual in context
Relationships: Michael Shelley/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	The Mind Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Hurts me to leave John out of this but a man gotta do what they gotta do  
> If this looks familiar it's because it's very much inspired by a work I saw long ago. Or two maybe. I can't find them for the life of me, otherwise I would've provided credit. If anyone recognizes it it'd be appreciated.  
> Not my first time creating this content but my first time publishing it. Especially on AO3. Having a bit of a hard time figuring it out.  
> It's would've stayed private if I didn't spend an absurd amount on it. I didn't put it down and reread it a dozen times in two days.  
> Might just continue it at some point if people like it at all. Make it more, y'know. Spicy.

Your bones had a deep ache within them.

Your lungs had revelled in the cold air of the night after being stuck breathing in the stuffy, dust filled air of the archive the whole day. You were almost wondering if you should visit a doctor to make sure the dust wasn't affecting your breathing. You had no medical expertise but it made sense in your mind.

You were glad you didn't have asthma like poor Martin. Sometimes you'd see him hunched over his desk with his inhaler, or outside desperate for fresh air. As his breath would almost heave whenever there was something disturbing in the archive.  
He seemed almost ashamed of it.

You abandoned those thoughts as you walked through the door. The air was also stuffy in your small apartment, and after opening up the window in your living room and kitchen, you dropped your street clothes in their place and headed straight for the bathroom. 

Your apartment was a small one. Only built for one or two people. It had basically 3 separate rooms in total: the living room and kitchen which were both half of the same room, a modest bathroom and a medium bedroom.  
It made you feel safe, really. It was cheap, yes, the institute isn't quite generous, but it made you happy. It was your own space you put in the effort to own. It was rewarding, in a way.

You were lucky someone was willing to take your shift that evening, bless Martin's soul. The job of the head archivist never faltered but felt you could start the weekend early. You didn't quite know why, but something told you to do so. You'd describe it as a gut feeling but you'd be a lot more worried if your gut was at fault. 

You let the mirror fog up before you even considered starting anything in the bathroom. Putting the water to the point where it would burn you had you stepped in. Letting the steam fill the small room.

It was comforting. Not having to see every scar some thing may have left on your body. Or your scars in general.  
You didn't want to bother with guilt.

Peeling off your clothes, you were just about to hop into the shower before a crash caught you completely off guard. 

It wasn't a proper crash. Not a metallic clank or the sound of something breaking. Not the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. It sounded more-so like a plastic bowl clattering on the floor. In retrospect something like that shouldn't have been that loud.  
Your thoughts brought you back the image of the open window and the vivid memory of that stray cat wandering in the one time you left your window open for the whole night. 

Hastily pulling on a towel you opened the bathroom door and scurrying into the kitchen you found a completely different sight to what you were expecting. 

"M-m-michael-?"

"Hello, Archivist."  
His multiplied, static like voice sent shivers not down your spine, but deep into your spinal cord. 

He sat upon your kitchen counter. Hay colored hair framed his long features as it draped down. He leaned forward on his hands as he watched you with an interest that may have felt almost predatory.  
His glowing, sickly door sat right next to him. It wasn't even connected to a wall, it looked as though it was merely rested against your cupboards.

Nothing was to be seen fallen on the floor so you could only guess that's the noise that his door might have made.

"Why- uhm. Why are you in my apartment." You asked, shakily. The possibilities ran dizzying circles through your thoughts but for the most part, you felt like you were going to die. You didn't even think of the possibility of the things following you out of the archive and into your home, although you've seen it happen. Having your space invaded made you sick to your stomach.  
That window was closed, also.

"I was bored." He answered blankly. The sound echoed against your walls endlessly. Though you knew no one was to hear it. Not even your neighbors if they were still around these days.  
It sounded like a lie and something told you he intended it that way. 

"Are you here to kill me?" You asked, straight forward. You quite surely didn't want to go out basically naked because of a bored, stretched out monster. After all you've endured it would be almost embarrassing.

"No." He answered dryly.  
A moment of silence fell as he seemed to just glance about. Hiking a long leg over the other and kicking it up slightly. Though the spiraling, vivid colours that danced in his eyes like they were some sort of liquid, they betrayed him as they showed no intent behind them.  
At least, not one you could read as murderous. 

"...will it infringe on me going on about my evening?" You questioned dumbly, an almost sort of curiosity laced your words yet it felt more like unease. You didn't feel quite scared yet, but you felt uncomfortable, not wearing any clothes in front of this creature that just invaded your space.

"'infringe'? Whatever do you mean, Archivist?" He asked, making a point out of pronouncing the word "archivist". Tilting his head as some sort of unreadable grin stretched upon his skin. So many teeth stared back at you as you fumbled along with whatever you were saying.

"You know- you're not going to say, pop in or anything? While I'm showering? Or follow me around? Why are you even-" You asked, but you couldn't quite verbalise your last thought as you merely babbled helplessly.  
Embarrassment gripped at the edges of your mind but you would rather not show it in front of this thing. You could tell however that he could tell. 

"Would you particularly like me to-" 

"No-no, no!" You cut him off. You absolutely did not want to hear what he wanted to insinuate. Waving your arms in protest as much at your towel allowed it.  
Why he would think that was beyond you really.

"I'm no Peeping Tom, Archivist. I will sit as quiet as a mouse while you go about your business." He said. This time it didn't sound like a lie. But then again with him being the "throat of delusion" you didn't allow yourself to be sure. 

"Then what's the point of you being here if you'll just. Sit?" You asked. You didn't want to give him something to do, but it didn't sound quite right in your mind. You didn't quite believe him.  
He shrugged in a way his shoulders maybe shouldn't move.

"I like feeling a presence." He answered. He seemed to almost smile sweetly. Or at least, try to with a face like his.

You didn't say another word as you slowly backed off into your bathroom, towel gripped tightly to your chest and eyes locked on his looming, unmoving form on your counter. 

You should've stayed in the archive knowing he probably planned this with whatever his intentions were.

Closing and locking the door behind you, you prayed no other would appear near you.  
Your pattering heart and your rational thought told you showering after that with him still in your home was so, so incredibly stupid. But the aching of your muscles and the soon to be headache building up behind your eyes told you to just ignore it. Reasoning with yourself made it worse when all you wanted was for the night to be over. To rest the weekend out.

Maybe you should call someone. You had a passing thought, but surely he'd know. You weren't quite keen of the idea of dragging someone else in your little... situation.

You did hop into the shower. Alone to your thoughts, you thought back to the fact that you didn't quite believe him. As if you knew, you saw he wasn't there simply out of boredom.  
The possibilities made you suddenly realise how much flesh there was on your bones. The one scorched by the hot water you let rain from above.  
It was also comforting. Somewhat.

Regret filled your heart as you realised all of your clothes were in your bedroom. 

Drying yourself off and pulling the same towel against you, you pulled the door open and peeked toward the kitchen, to find both monster and his door gone. Relief showered you a second time as looking across into your bedroom, you could only see the empty room with not even a sign of the flashy colours of the door. 

"And here I thought humans were injured by hot liquid." 

You nearly jumped out of your skin and stumbled in the door frame as the static laced voice filled your ears, and leaning more closely into your room you saw both the monster and his door against the opposite wall you couldn't see. 

You made no remark at his presence as you thought your reaction said enough. 

"What-?" You questioned, half forgotten his initial remark and unsure of what he was referring too. 

He pointed with his inhumane, sharp finger at your reddened arms and upper chest, still emitting heat into the air around you from the hot water you used to shower.  
You weren't enough of a fool to think he didn't know how covered in scars you were but at least he had the decency to not comment on it.  
He completely towered over you, with him being taller than the door frame you could only reach with your arm extended up. 

"Ah." You exclaimed. "It just. Makes me feel clean after a day of work." You answered quietly. You didn't want to give more detail. He didn't need that deep of a look in your psyche.  
Part of you wanted to hide. To bury away from his maddening, piercing eyes but you didn't want him to see it.

"But you're not quite clean, are you Archivist?" He spoke back. 

His words caught you completely off guard. You couldn't stop your mouth from stuttering out nonsense before clearing your throat, and retorting with a somehow solid question. 

"What do you mean? In what way?" You asked, almost not ready to hear his answer, figuring it could be another sort of cryptic riddle he always gives. Yet he surprised you. 

"The Eye has you marked. Your body." He said it in a way that made it sound like he expected you to know this fact already. It was something more straightforward than he has ever given. 

Though it raised more questions. It instilled fear and you knew he could tell.  
There was almost a full minute before you spoke again. 

"Please explain."  
You didn't try to mask your voice as being controlled this time. It was as shaky and as unsure as you felt. You sounded almost helpless. Pleading to know. Nobody ever answered you and you had little hope he would, yet it didn't stop you from trying.

A sort of sadistic grin spread upon his thin lips and his torso seemed to bend forward towards you, yet in a stable manner. No in the way of a doll falling forward, but in the way of him bending his spine in an almost impossible way. 

"The Eye marked you physically." He stated, almost repeating himself as his head tilted to the side. The way a bird's would when it was curiously inspecting something.  
"Tell me Archivist, has he ever laid a hand upon you?" He questioned. Static rising up in his voice more than usual. 

You knew he meant Elias, who else. But in the panicked frenzy you couldn't quite name a moment where he had.  
"No? I- I don't think so. He couldn't have." You answered, shakily. Backing away from his looming form. 

"Think further, Archivist. Memories aren't always built to last but this one you would've surely needed." He retorted. Pressing each word in a way that made you feel trapped. Not to mention with each step you took backwards, he took one forward.

"I, uhm." You stammered. Your feet, bare and cold against the floor, shook under you in a way that made you unsteady while you shifted your weight around nervously.  
"I- I remember! He-he-he called me into his office, to speak about I think holiday plans a few weeks back? Festivities? And uhm. I just got random vertigo. Almost hit the floor but he-"  
You were interrupted by the sheer way Michael's eyes poured into your soul. You prayed he couldn't reach further as he edged you on to continue, nodding his head slowly as he tilted his head straight and then to the other side.

"-he caught me. He jumped up, bolted and he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me back to my feet asking if I was okay and sent me home with his driver for the day."  
You let the words settle in. Or more-so, he let you realize what exactly you were saying. After he saw you put the pieces together, he spoke. 

"So that's where it was." He concluded from your statement. Almost giggling to himself as he watched you closely for your next line. 

"What's it for? Doesn't he know where I am already?" You asked. Some breed of panic fed into your imagination. You knew he could see through eyes so what was that for? On your back, you assumed. There wasn't quite anything for him to see through.

"As I said, a marker. It's not a 'protection', per say. It is simply a physical seal that keeps you from your potential." He answered. His back now straight as a board, showcasing his full height.  
"Think of it as a woolen winter glove. It might protect you from the harsh cold initially, but the more time you spend outside the more the cold pierces through it and the more restrictive the way you can use your hand becomes." He said, exemplifying his words with odd motions of his even odder hands.

You knew what he meant by potential, that was that. But you had more questions lingering inside your petty skull.

"Why...there. Would it not be easier to grab my hand or something?" You inquired. You figured he made it so you couldn't see it, then why go through the trouble of making it discrete?

"You may not see it, Archivist but things like me do. I can feel its presence but it's not on exposed skin so I can easily pinpoint it." He answered. You wondered for a moment if he was reading your mind or if you were somehow in sink on the topic. 

One last question, you told yourself.

"Why are you telling me this? Do you have anything to gain from it?" You asked. No quite accusatory, but something behind your words implied you thought he wanted something in return. You weren't delighted at the thought of having to owe this creature something when you already did.  
He did save your life but he could always change his mind, you thought.

He laughed. Laughed and laughed until he was catching his breath.  
He went right back to his normal speech after. Almost normal.  
As if there wasn't some sort of spitting venom behind his words 

"I despise your boss, Archivist. I believe that a little favor from me would be just enough to inconvenience him. Like a small, pulling pain in the back of your eyes as you work." He said, making his motives somewhat clear. You nodded understandingly, you almost wanted to thank him before he continued. 

"That's why I'm going to go further." He stated. A smile spread on his features as he interlocked his sharp fingers. 

You raised an eyebrow quizzically trying to hide the fact that your heart sank.

"Would you like me to remove it, Archivist? To get at least one restraining chain of The Eye off of your body?" He questioned, with an intensity almost unusual for him as he again leaned forward dangerously close to you. 

"...how do I know you won't kill me?" You asked. Thinking back to his previous statement of that not being his intention, you very much doubted it. 

"That would be more inconvenience for me than for The Eye, at this point in time." He answered. It didn't feel sincere but it also didn't feel like a lie.

You knew you were gonna regret it. You knew and you beat yourself up over in your thoughts.  
"Fine." You answered, biting down on the inside of your cheek. "How? I don't suppose you plan to carve it out of my skin?" You said, jokingly. 

"Close." His response left nervousness building up in your throat. Your grin fell.  
"Go lie down, Archivist." He said, his long arm gesturing towards your bed. 

"Wait-!" Embarrassment suddenly took over you. "I'm not even dressed, how are you even meant to- y'know! Do your thing with me in the damn adam's suit!" You exclaimed. Your face was gradually getting darker and darker in shade but your racing mind didn't let you feel it quite yet. 

"I don't particularly care of what shows and what doesn't." He answered, unusually dry for his unnerving voice. He did mean it, but you had no way of knowing that.  
He extended a hand towards your bed once more. You could only bite down on your fear and embarrassment. This was so, extremely stupid. You knew it with every sense but you couldn't quite rationalise why it wasn't worth it. You did want at least some freedom from Elias. Your distaste was at the very least shared.

You awkwardly stepped past him, and gingerly lie on your stomach. You gripped a pillow in your arms, for you to rest your head on and let it face his neon door.

"Why do I have to lay down?" You asked without actually looking back, feeling his looming presence near. There was definite fear to your words. One you at least hoped he wasn't enjoying.

"You'll want to at least be in a comfortable position. It's not a pleasant process." He stated.  
You could feel shuffling behind you, and when a weight on the back of your thighs your heart skipped a beat. You tried not to think of the fact he was straddling you too much.  
He was much lighter than you expected him.

"Have you...done this before?" You asked. Your breath suddenly shaky. It felt like such, such a wrong question to ask in this predicament.

"Yes." He answered, with no further nuance. You felt his long hands hover on your towel, almost hesitating for just a moment you thought.  
"May I?" He said, holding the edge of the towel, ready to move it to the side and expose you.

Your arms shook as you lied your head upon them.  
"Yes."  
You didn't allow yourself to second guess it, as much as you wanted to. But you didn't know if hesitation would irritate him.  
You didn't know what you'd dislike most. Being this vulnerable around him or the pain you assumed you were about to experience.

Suddenly you found yourself also trying to ignore the fact that your bottom was bare for him to see.  
You prayed he didn't care as he claimed. And his eyes didn't linger.

One of his hands came to your side, almost holding you still for whatever reason.

"Is the scar from this, too?" He asked, seemingly no ill intent behind his words. Or so you hoped.  
You wondered which one but you could make an educated guess.

"No. It's from uhm, surgery on my spine years before." You stuttered out, quietly. Your voice was small as you felt small. With being basically completely exposed to a monster, you felt a fear unlike any you've felt in these years.

"It's part of it."  
You winced at the thought of him injuring the scar tissue.

With his finger, he traced the shape in your lower back carefully.  
An eye. Simplistic. Two lines, a circle and a dot. With the top line being your scar. 

"Can-can Elias see this? Any of it?" You questioned, almost panicking at the thought. 

"No." He answered simply, tapping his solid, sharp, but silky finger against your flesh. "I am the Distortion, therefore his vision is distorted. But he's not trying to for now."  
He seemed to almost examine the invisible mark with the tip of his index you assumed, tracing the lines again and again with seemingly no purpose. Perhaps a plan of action was swirling in his twisted mind, but you couldn't be sure. 

"Won't it leave a scar? Eye shaped? Where Elias can look through?"  
You weren't sure why he would even bother but these were genuine concerns. Yet something in them felt like you were trying to escape your situation.  
You were, and you wanted to, but they were sincere. 

"I am not scarring you, Archivist. I'm erasing it." He answered. His finger itself sounded like a nail as he tapped your flesh gingerly. It felt like a hard object, like plastic almost, being pressed through a silky rubber glove and stretching it into a point.

No wonder. He wouldn't quite need expertise to simply dig into your flesh. Even so you were convinced he had plenty of experience doing such, too.

"Also," he stated. Both of his hands were gone from your abdomen but their touch lingered. He seemed to raise them both and clap them together once as much as he could. "He is going to feel the same pain you are. Right as you do. So surely he'll know. Unless he's a lot more stupid than he lets on." He said.

You could hear, feel the grin on his face as he said those words. He seemed overly delighted at the idea of causing pain to Elias. At insulting him.  
You may have understood it, at least somewhat. 

You'll have to be careful not to go near Elias after this. 

He tapped your side with his fingers, briefly asking if you were ready to hold onto something.  
You gave a half hearted yes. Not wanting to start the presumingly painful process, but at the same time wanting it to be over with. 

You felt him press the tip of his finger firmly against the spot on your back.  
And you felt it. Felt it tenfold. 

The white, seering, almost burning pain spread up your spine the moment his skin touched yours and it was enough to get a whimper out of you. He ever so slowly dragged his finger in the first outline. Quite literally painfully slow.  
You wanted to squirm and shift away from him, but his other hand suddenly grasped your whole hip and kept you in place.  
The sensation kept you from realizing that you had gone a deep shade of red.

"Be still."  
He seemed so focused on the drag of your skin the static in his voice nearly disappeared. Leaving an impression of what you thought he might've sounded like once. If there was a before. Before he was Michael. 

It wasn't quite scary but it definitely was threatening. 

Those thoughts helped you as you prayed the sensation would stop soon. You wondered if had the mark been somewhere on your arm, removing it would send the stabbing pain only in that area.  
Damn Elias for even coming close to your spine. 

You felt relief you didn't even realize you were hoping for as the pain slowly lessened. Eventually just leaving a dull ache behind in a matter of seconds. 

Still laying down, you looked back at Michael as best as you could, who's eyes were fixated on the place of the mark.  
His long finger you assumed he used to remove it was stained red at the tip. 

"Are you done? Already?" You asked, almost relieved. You'd expected to be in absolute agony knowing what situations you found yourself in usually. 

"No." He answered and your expression dropped. He sounded almost disappointed if his signature voice could sound as such.  
"The further I get into removing it completely the more difficult it gets. Not to mention more painful." He observed. He sounded almost like a doctor making a prognosis. You remembered that certain way of speech from when you had the surgery. The one that left you with a scar Elias found oh so helpful.

"I guess just. Get it done if you can? I-I don't know." You stated. 

"I will, Archivist." He stated, the odd, sadistic joy somehow back in his broken words. "I'm simply taking a break for you. I wouldn't want you to pass out." He said, reaching over and patting your shoulder firmly with it's deformed hand. 

Ah. 

"Thanks?" You answered. It sounded like a question but you didn't quite know what else to answer. 

"I recommend you hold on for this next stretch. Again." He said. The back of his hand brushed the marked area gingerly as he watched you position yourself.  
His skin wasn't warm. But it wasn't surprisingly cold against your skin either. It simply felt normal. Room temperature. 

You at least tried not to think of it.

Clutching the pillow tightly you mouthed Michael the okay to start his work on you once more.  
He was right. It was worse. 

The second you felt the light pressure on the small of your back, a different sort of pain went through you. It felt as though it was rearranging your vertebrae from under your skin, swapping them around and clanking them together through your flesh. It spread and was not only on your back but gripped your chest as well as you tried to breathe normally through it.

Michael had placed his hand flat against your upper back and pressed your body down as he remained focused on following the round outline of the simplistic iris. He was stronger than his slender form let on. He was more focused than last time, as if he was willing the marks away with meditation. 

He listened to you whine and whimper painfully as you pressed your face into your pillow. He found it as background noise more than anything. A human would feel sorry. Disturbed by the pathetic, helpless noises but he wasn't quite that, was he. 

You felt him pull back and in a second it was all gone. This time you gasped for air slightly and the thinnest bead of sweat was felt on your neck, barely enough for you to notice.  
You still felt the ghost of where he had placed his hand on your exposed back to keep you from moving. It lingered and left your skin tingling in the oddest way. 

You wanted to ask him to get off of you so you could get up. To stretch and move your legs or whatever else.  
But you wouldn't dare move more than a slight shift. The fear of exposing more of yourself than you already had to gripped you more than his weight did.

He let you catch your breath for a second. In his full mind he hoped you were just good at hiding the intensity of it all and Elias Bouchard was withering in a corner somewhere. Alone.  
He did enjoy the warmth of your skin. Not something he got to feel often in a not murderous scenario and your thighs weren't exactly an uncomfortable surface to sit on.  
Though he was sure he wasn't cutting off circulation. 

You jumped as you felt his spindley digits on the side of your face. 

His limbs were long enough for him to reach your face easily from where he was sitting.  
He grabbed your chin gingerly and guided your head so you could somewhat look at him, straining your neck to do so. As he looked into your eyes he slithered his hand slowly over your mouth, letting you breath to your nose.  
You were horrified not only of the position but also the pain you knew you'll feel. 

His thumb grazed your cheek tenderly if it was possible. It felt like he was preparing you.  
You nodded hesitantly as his fingers lingered on your back one more time. 

You understood now why he was covering your mouth. 

It made you want to scream in agony.

It compared to your back being sliced open down the middle it felt like, and as he pressed further in the one spot, like the flesh was being pulled and spread roughly in opposite directions. Letting needless pinch every nerve of your spine.

He muffled your cries as much as he could in a way that wouldn't freak you out. Though your stillness wasn't quite as important as he focused on only one spot. That pupil was giving him a hard time, so much so he almost wanted to apologise.  
Almost. 

He could feel hot tears stream past his fingers but no proper sobs escaped your throat.  
He was almost done. He at least hoped you wouldn't hate him.  
He wasn't sure why. It just seemed unpleasant. Though he knew many did. But you were different, somehow.

Finally, he felt the last of the energy give out and he took his hand away.  
No more mark to be seen. 

He let go of your face slowly and you opened your mouth to take a shaky breath in. Tears stained your face. You attempted to push yourself up on your elbows, forgetting the way your chest was exposed.

Michael couldn't actually see but regardless he spared no comment as he truly did not care at this point.

"Feeling any different?" He inquired. His voice was unaltered by the ordeal although he felt his fatigue mock him. Long has it been since he felt it.

Taking a deep breath in, you nearly dropped back on your mattress. But still you spoke. 

"Yes. I feel-somehow- lighter?" You answered. "Like whatever tying me down was just. Cut off?" You concluded. You second guessed your descriptions and you could only hope he understood.

"Wonderful, Archivist." He responded. 

You wondered why he insisted on calling you "archivist" every chance he got but that wasn't your biggest concern.

"Michael." You beckoned.

"Yes?" He answered, more static than word.

"Why?" You asked. "Why did you do this? I uhm, find it hard to believe it's just because you're petty." You stated, shiftly. You hoped to god you weren't angering him. Last thing you wanted when he had you in such a position was to anger him.  
Your heart rate nearly went up as there was no answer. 

And then, he laughed again. 

That typical, multiplied laughter that seemed to come not from his mouth but deep within his body. It didn't make your head hurt this time but it made you shiver.  
He breathed out gently and finished his giggle fit. Fear settled into you as you felt static again.  
He wouldn't go through all the trouble only to kill you now, would he?

You jolted as he basically lay himself against you.

He had you caged in his limbs, stretched torso pressed against your back and you could feel him against your exposed skin. His hair tickled your neck and back.  
You felt as though there should have been breath but there was no rise and fall to his chest.  
You could feel it still. The chill that went down your spine as he spoke against your shoulder and neck. Closely.

"The eye doesn't deserve you, Archivist." He spoke. His tone suddenly low. The static seemed to play slower and you could feel it almost vibrate in his chest. Not quite like "purring", but like bees. Rattling in his, what you hoped to be ribcage.

You wanted to shake. Yet you didn't feel in danger. 

"What does that mean?" You asked. Not above a whisper but you were sure he heard you. His hands seemed to wordlessly travel your skin. You didn't dare protest it, yet he didn't touch you inappropriately. Not completely. His hands wandered on your hips, on your back, on your arms and on your shoulders but never wondered further.

"You're nothing like your predecessor, Archivist." He spoke against your skin, his lips brushing your shoulder. Were those lips? You couldn't quite tell. Between the feel of him and his hands on you and the many emotions bubbling in your chest it was hard to be coherent.  
You partly blamed it on the pain. Or at least you hoped.

"She wasn't kind. She wasn't merciful. She wasn't trustful. She was a cruel, cruel woman." He answered. It sounded breathy but you felt no breath behind it.  
You wondered how he knew of Gertrude. "With you, I'd like to keep you, Archivist. Have you." He said. The words lingered in your mind as did his skin against your own and as did the clothes of his against your bare backside. 

"...okay."

You didn't quite know how to respond. Possibilities of what that might mean played around in your mind and weaved a picture you weren't expecting. Not one you desired.  
Will he string you up like a mannequin? Wear your flesh as you assumed he was with his current form? Or something even more sinister?  
You didn't want to find out but you felt as though you didn't have a choice. 

"...do I have a choice?" You inquired, whispering to him in the best of your abilities. 

His hands travelled up your body, up to your shoulders and onto your face. You swallowed hard as he tilted your head back. 

You felt him crawl up your body and next thing you saw were his milky, colourful swirling eyes. You would've described them as absolutely hypnotizing, if it weren't for the fact you tried to avoid that completely.  
His air curtained the view in front of you as he hung his head upside down to look directly into your eyes. 

You didn't know what his intentions for that were but you only assumed in your panicked mind he just wanted to look at you. To see your reaction.  
Maybe it was also intimidation. You didn't know. 

"Yes."

Static filled your ears almost overwhelmingly so but it went quiet the moment you made a face.

A smell fanned your face as he did. By now you recognized the metallic smell of blood.  
You weren't sure if his insides just smelt very strongly or if he naturally had the odor to him.

"Are you not tired, little Archivist? Surely you'd be exhausted."  
He changed the subject entirely. His voice again his own sort of chipper. He wordlessly slid off of you but one of his arms lingered. Fingers grazing your skin.

You spared a thought to the nickname and it made you want to recoil.

You were enveloped by warmth when he had pulled a blanket from the ones on your bed. With the towel still gripped to your chest, you let him pull you to his own.  
You weren't sure if you lacked the energy to protest or if you simply didn't want to. Out of fear or disinterest, you couldn't tell once more. 

You were sure by now he was right. You were exhausted. You lay basically motionless against him. His arms enveloped you almost completely and he hiked a long leg over your own. He had weirdly nuzzled against you and was rocking back and forth slowly. 

You weren't sure if you should appreciate it considering he was probably doing it to comfort himself for some reason.

There was no breath for you to feel. To hear. No real warmth to be drawn to. Though his "purring" offered some comfort. One that could at least lull you to a sleep where you didn't have to philosophize it.  
You hoped you'd at least wake up with nothing horrible having been done to you.

If he was still around when you woke up, or if you were rather, you'd have to ask what "keeping you" entailed. And you hoped moments before you fell asleep, that this one time he wasn't lying. You hoped you did have a choice. 

You also hoped Elias was choking in pain somewhere, but that's merely for him being the catalyst to this mess by being an invasive little shit, though that was different.


End file.
